Les Ombres
by Little Patch of Heaven
Summary: Francis Bonnefoy has interested Arthur Kirkland from the moment they first met. But it's not a romantic attraction at all. Arthur can't shake the feeling that there is something very wrong with the exchange student.


**Les Ombres**

There is something about Francis Bonnefoy that interests Arthur from the moment they meet. And it is not so much a romantic interest - in fact, it is not like that at all, for the very thought nearly makes him sick.

No, Arthur does not find himself attracted to the man in anyway; he is not awed by the man's golden locks, blue eyes, foreign accent or overall "French-ness", as many of the girls in the school are. Nor is he amazed by Francis's above average grades, his dramatics, his confidence or any of the other traits that the foreign exchange student is known for.

It is more an unshakeable sense of wrongness about the man. That there is something so terribly incorrect about him that it drives Arthur crazy.

And Arthur can't quite place his finger on it. There are, of course, many things wrong with Francis Bonnefoy in Arthur's opinion; and yet, the one thing that keeps tugging at his mind, the sense that there is something very, horribly wrong is not any of the things that usually annoy the Brit.

There is something he - and everyone else in the school - is missing.

And it bothers the younger teen significantly; he vows to discover Francis Bonnefoy's horrible secret within the remaining two weeks that the senior is in England.

He begins watching the older boy - he finds that his eyes are on him every time they are in the same room, and he simply thanks God above that Francis has yet to notice. He follows him in the halls at a minimal distance, sits close enough at lunch to hear bits of conversation, and searches quite diligently - without getting too close, of course - for anything strange or out of the ordinary.

And yet, after five days of continuing this routine, he finds nothing.

Arthur is incredibly disheartened - he has been following around _Francis Bonnefoy -_ who he very nearly despises - for five days with seemingly no reward for it. He tells himself that if he does not find anything strange about the boy - other than his obnoxious personality and overall being - within twenty-four hours, he will stop this foolish investigation - _stalking_, his mind supplies - at once.

Two more days pass before he finally gives up.

**-o-o-o-o-**

It is late Friday night. Or rather, Saturday morning to be more exact.

It is only three days after his investigation has come to a close and he is walking the streets of London in the dark. His bloody, annoying Student Class President duties - forms and requests that require reading and signing and checking and sorting and piling and so on - have kept him at school for far longer than they should have - he blames his fellow student council members for running off to parties and leaving him all the work - and he is only just now heading home.

Arthur's terribly tempted to head to his favorite pub and get himself absolutely, smashing pissed - a reward for all his troubles, he thinks - but he manages to restrain himself. He has a job interview in less than twelve hours, and he doesn't much care for going through it with a horrible hangover. He quite needs the extra money, after all.

But Arthur still finds himself in want of a drink of some sort and he enters a small café, hoping for a nice, hot cup of tea and the relaxing silence of the nearly empty building. As he enters, he finds himself both wonderfully surprised and absolutely aggravated when he sees the familiar blond hair and school uniform of a certain - _intriguing_? - Frenchman.

Arthur waits in the doorway, watching the older boy as he leafs through a book and stirs at his own cup of tea - and Arthur is quite confused by this, for he distinctly remembers Francis telling him he just _'couldn't stand English tea'_. Then, before the Englishman can even prepare himself - why exactly he has to prepare himself to face _Bonnefoy_ he's not quite sure - Francis looks up and Arthur remembers why he even started observing him the first place.

There has to be something terribly, terribly wrong with Francis Bonnefoy if he has such broken looking eyes.

Arthur finds it terribly hard to breathe in the next few minutes as Francis continues to stare him down and he feels the temperature in the café rise and the pressure thicken. It is silent - silent as the grave - and Arthur begins to pull at his shirt collar, purposely avoiding the gaze of those blue and broken eyes.

"Bonjour."

Arthur stops loosening his tie - when exactly did he start doing that again? - and turns to face the Frenchman. Francis is not smiling like Arthur is used to seeing him do in the hallways, around friends, or as he charms girls. He is just staring at Arthur as if he can't quite figure out why the other boy is there - and alright, maybe it is a little odd that he's coming into a café at 12:13 in the morning, but Francis is there too so he really shouldn't judge.

Before Arthur even knows what he's doing, he is heading towards the other boy and seating himself in the empty chair across from him. Francis doesn't say a word - he merely turns back to his book and stirs at his tea. Arthur has to wonder if he's even drinking it at all - it looks to him like Francis is finding more satisfaction in stirring it than drinking it.

The silence between them is a little unnerving. Normally Arthur would have loved it, but he's observed Francis in the past week or so that he's been attending Hetalia High - perhaps more closely than was normal - and has seen that Francis is hardly ever quiet. But the Frenchman seems quite content to flip through his book - and he's flipping through so fast that Arthur has to wonder if he's actually even reading anything - and pointlessly stirring at his English tea, so Arthur tries desperately to think of something to say.

Nothing comes to mind. And luckily, the awkward tension has disappeared with Francis's greeting, so he decides that sitting in silence isn't all that terrible after all, and perhaps Francis is just tired - it is after midnight, so one can't really blame him for lacking the energy to talk.

So they sit in silence and Arthur looks away from Francis's face and towards the book in his hands; as Francis skims the pages in front of him, Arthur catches sight of some of the words:

_"To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,  
><em>_Creeps in this petty pace from day to day…"_

"To the last syllable of recorded time," he quotes, no longer needing to see the page to know the words. Which is good because Francis has already flipped past that page and he wouldn't have been able to read it if he had wanted to. But Arthur knows that line. He knows it very well - in fact, he probably has the entire play memorized. Francis stops his sporadic page flipping when Arthur speaks, pausing with a page half turned, and looks towards Arthur with one eyebrow raised in question.

He doesn't look so much confused by Arthur's quoting, Arthur thinks, but…intrigued, perhaps? And Arthur knows that isn't the right word, but it's the best he can come up with.

Francis is still staring at him with those broken, blue eyes - only they look very amused and curious now - and so Arthur speaks again to fill the silence that has become heavy with awkward tension once again. But because he has nothing better to say, he lets the famous writer speak for him and merely finishes the quote. "And all our yesterdays have lighted fools, the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow."

And then Arthur shuts his mouth and silence falls between them once more, Arthur staring at the copy of Macbeth, Francis staring at Arthur. And it's awkward and uncomfortable and Arthur really wants the silence to just end - because honestly, having Francis this silent is really starting to scare him - so he opens his mouth and begins talking - he's not even sure what he's going to say; he just knows that Francis won't be speaking any time soon and he needs to say _something_.

"I didn't know you were a Shakespeare fan," he says, ripping his gaze from the book and staring up at the older boy across from him. He realizes after he says this that there are a million better things he could have said - perhaps, maybe, asking why Francis is sitting in a practically empty cafe at 12:20 in the morning reading Macbeth and stirring at tea he doesn't intend to drink. But, oh well, he's said it and he might as well continue. "I thought you hated all things English."

And Francis laughs. Except it doesn't sound like Arthur expects it to - it doesn't sound like it does at school when he's with Gilbert or Antonio, and it doesn't sound like his flirtatious laughs to win the ladies. In fact, Arthur's not even sure he knows what it sounds like; just that it is not very happy at all and it bothers him much more than it should.

"I don't mind this play as much," Francis answers, and there's something in the way he says it - something in his voice - that puts Arthur on edge. Francis is looking down at the pages now - finally away from Arthur and the Brit feels a huge weight lifted off his shoulders because of it - and he flips through them until he lands on the page with the quote. He fingers it absentmindedly and Arthur watches him, noticing for the first time that that quote is circled in read, the last line underlined multiple times. There are notes in red, scrawling cursive - that Arthur knows just has to belong to the frog - but it's too small and too far away from him to read.

"I've never quite liked that line," Arthur mutters. His voice is soft and nearly incoherant, but the cafe is quiet and it carries enough for Francis to hear it just fine.

"Why is that?" The question causes him to jump a little, as he wasn't really expecting an answer. Francis sounds honestly curious, as if he really does want to hear the Brit's opinion - which is certainly a change from how things normally are between them when they see each other at school.

Arthur raises his head from the text - and dammit, Francis is staring at him again with that unnerving gaze that bothers Arthur so very, very much - and eyes him warily. That feeling - that there is something terribly wrong and for some reason no one else can see it - is back and worse than ever. It's almost making Arthur sick with worry, but he can't seem to figure out why. Just what is he so worried about, anyway?

His mind finally registers Francis's question and for a moment, he struggles with an answer. "It's very…," Arthur pauses, searching for the right word. "depressing." He notices Francis's curious stare and continues. "It's such a bleak outlook on life. It makes you wonder if there is even a purpose in living at all."

He waits for Francis's answer. For an agreement. For an argument maybe - because perhaps the reason Francis likes the quote so much is because he interprets it completely differently and not quite so melancholic and hopeless…right?

But Francis doesn't speak.

He just smiles, soft - and sad almost, isn't it? - and looks at Arthur with his broken eyes.

Now Arthur feels sick and horrible and worried - and there is something so, so, so wrong here but he still can't figure out just what it is - and before he knows it, he's running out of the café as fast as he can.

Because that look on Francis's face - and that horrible, horrible silence - is scaring him to _death_.

**-o-o-o-o-**

Arthur does not continue his investigation of Francis Bonnefoy.

There are three more days before Francis leaves - leaves Hetalia High, leaves England, and leaves Arthur Kirkland and his curious, unexplainable worries far, far behind.

But he can't bring himself to face Francis again. Not after the café and the Shakespeare and the red, cursive notes and that damned little smile.

The truth is, Francis scares Arthur. Terrifies him.

Arthur can't really explain it - not even to himself, really - but he knows that if he figures out what exactly is so very wrong with Francis Bonnefoy it will change everything. He's not even sure _why_ he knows that - it's the simple fact that he does and it scares him and so he avoids the exchange student as much as possible for the remainder of his time here.

It doesn't fix anything; nothing goes away. Not the curiosity. Not the bothersome feeling. Not the worry. It nearly drives him insane when he sees Francis laughing and joking with other students and they don't even realize a damned thing - because Antonio and Gilbert are too busy laughing to notice that Francis Bonnefoy is not all right at all.

He's the only one, Arthur understands suddenly, that even notices _anything_ - the only one who knows that Francis is not alright and not okay and not all fine and dandy like he's supposed to be.

As much as it scares him to face Francis's wrong-ness, the thought that if he doesn't do anything nobody will ever notice - and Francis will only get worse and worse until those eyes of his aren't the only things that are broken - is even worse.

But he's still so very afraid. And he's so very worried. And the two emotions are still battling for dominance in his head and it's driving him crazy so he does the only thing he knows to do: he ignores the problem.

He ignores Francis and his friends as they laugh in homeroom. He ignores Francis as he sits in front of him in History class. He ignores Francis in the halls when they happen to pass each other.

And then, one day, as he sees Francis sitting on the school lawn after school - and he's alone, which is the first red flag - he stops ignoring him. The worry wins out and he finds himself confronting the other boy, questioning, asking - even though he's not even sure what he wants to know.

Francis's answer terrifies him.

"Life's but a walking shadow."

He doesn't say a word more, but he doesn't need to, because Arthur can remember just as well as him their talk in the café - "_It makes you wonder if there is even a purpose in living at all_," he had said, and Francis had just _smiled_.

He has an answer now, but he's left with even more questions than before. Even more wonders and worries. Two days, he reminds himself. Two days before Francis is gone and no longer his problem or his worry. Off to France where surely someone will notice.

But there's still that thought: what if no one does? What if it's just Arthur and will always be just Arthur? What if he lets him leave without doing a thing?

So he watches even more carefully.

As Francis sits in front of him in class he focuses not on his notes, but on Francis's wrists, searching for marks and bandages and some sort of something there. But he can't see a thing.

He searches Francis's things - _'random student council led searches'_, he says, but he knows Francis doesn't believe him - for bottles or pills or knives or guns or something that he thinks should be there but he just can't find.

One day.

One day before he never sees Francis again. Never sees his broken eyes or his sad smile or his copy of Macbeth with that line circled in red and those notes - oh, how Arthur wished he could have read them - off in the margins.

He should tell someone, Arthur realizes. He should let someone else know his suspicious, his worries. Because someone else has to know that there's something wrong with Francis Bonnefoy.

But he's scared. Why him? What if he's wrong? What if Francis isn't broken at all - there isn't anything wrong - and he's just been imagining things?

So he keeps silent.

And he watches as Francis Bonnefoy says his goodbyes - and he sees, for the first time, how fake that damned smile of his is - and walks out of the doors of Hetalia High and the life of Arthur Kirkland - the only one who's ever realized that there is something wrong, wrong, wrong - forever.

And Arthur doesn't say a damned thing.

* * *

><p><em>EDIT : Les Ombres (French) : Shadows<br>I was corrected by someone who actually speaks French. And this is why I don't trust Google Translator at all._

_(Urgh, I fail at titles)_

_This was not the direction I was going with this at all; it just happened. But it brings up something that I feel the need to say: if you know someone who is suffering with depression, hurting themselves, or thinking of selfmutilation or suicide - TELL SOMEONE! DO SOMETHING! Please._

_As always, please review. And if I get enough requests for it, I may make this a twoshot with the second chapter focusing on Francis's thoughts and emotions._


End file.
